Viene la Sera
by Gemenied
Summary: Sometimes he wonders, if he is the only person in the building at night, but then he finds her...listening to opera of all things. Spoilers for series 9


A/N: I had the idea while sitting in the Vienna Opera for the performance of featured opera and because of the preview clip, I had this idea. In parts it's now 'incorrect', because the episode shows things a bit different, but I decided to keep this story the way it is, because it was written and finished before "Harbinger" aired. This story is for **Teddy78**, who asked for an extension of my drabbles - which in a way, this is. Mucho many thanks go to **ShadowSamurai83** for the beta.

**Title**: Viene la Sera

**Rating**: K

**Disclaimer**: I own neither Waking the Dead nor this opera...unfortunately.

**Spoilers**: Series 9 "Harbinger"

Enjoy.

* * *

**Viene la sera**

_Viene__ la sera - e l'ombra e la quiete. _

He wasn't surprised to find her there at this time of the day. She often enough stayed as long as he did, way into the night.

He wasn't even surprised to come in and find music filling the office. She sometimes put it on while she worked to focus better or to just have something rolling by.

Neither was unusual. Out of the ordinary, though, was her choice of music and the fact that he couldn't see her at her desk.

Hesitantly, he walked closer to the office door, quietly leaning against it as his eyes adjusted to the dim light of the room. Her body was barely visible in the shadows by the wall where she was sprawled out on the sofa. From his position, it looked like she was fast asleep, but he doubted it.

Even though he wasn't exactly a fan of sung drama, he was immediately taken in by the familiar notes of the aria, remembering when he had first heard it. It was the recording with the Callas, he guessed. Grace would hardly use anything less.

Still, her choice for the night surprised him. After the day they'd had, he hadn't expected her to listen to a drawn-out operatic love duet that would eventually end in ceremonial suicide. Sometimes, he really couldn't follow how Grace's mind worked.

As the Callas now picked up her pleading part, promising to weep no longer, he settled more comfortably against the door jamb, listening to the music and watching Grace. It had become a habit over the years to watch her, only intensified over the last months by having an agenda.

All day she had been fiddly with her clothes, realizing too late that her skirt was a little shorter than she had probably planned. He didn't mind - typical man and all that - but watching her being flustered was a fun pastime and by God, he needed to catch all the fun he could get these days.

It hadn't been a good one and finding Grace still in her office at this time of the day didn't bode well for the remaining minutes.

"It would be more comfortable if you came in and sat down." Her voice dropped into his thoughts as the break between the first and the second part of the long duet provided a moment of silence.

"Didn't want to disturb you," he murmured back as he made his way over to the sofa and quietly sat down in the space she provided for him. Seconds later, her head was in his lap - he did make a nice pillow - and she closed her eyes again with a small smile.

The Callas was singing again, the notes and lyrics of the aria becoming more suggestive and intimate as it went, and Boyd sat there listening to it and waiting for the time when the repose would be over. Leaning back, he unconsciously linked his hand with Grace's, the gesture having become so familiar that he didn't even notice.

"Why Madame Butterfly?" he asked after a while.

In response, Grace shrugged. "It was that or Lakmé."

Boyd chortled once, then became a little more serious again. "Why?"

"I felt like listening to opera tonight." Grace was a little more elusive in her answer than she needed to be and they both knew it. There was little sense in denying it, yet Boyd knew that she wouldn't elaborate on her own and just went with the game. He could have forced it, of course, but somehow the day had been too much to muster the strength for shouting. It would all come out into the open anyway at some point.

"Why do it here and not on the much more comfortable sofa in your living room, or...even better...in your bed?"

An eye opened with which she gave him a speculative smile. In reply, he just smirked.

There was silence as Butterfly avoided speaking the word love, while they both gathered their thoughts.

"I needed to think."

Obliqueness, thy name be Grace... Boyd squeezed her hand to encourage her to go on. "About our newest addition, I assume."

Grace didn't answer. There wasn't anything to say really. Naturally, she was contemplating the impact their new team member would have on the team. They had been a close-knit unit - always - but even more so during the last months. Through dark channels in the Home Office, she had heard of 'concerns' that their closeness needed to be broken up to prevent the team from going rogue at some point. It was laughable, really, but who knew what went on in the minds of the paper pushers.

Both the Met and the Home Office considered Boyd to be a time bomb with a ticking clock, the team's loyalty supported the concerns. It wasn't unusual, therefore.

Putting an additional DSI in their midst, one with such a big dark spot in her past, was one hell of a move though. Grace wasn't above snooping when the need arose, and Sarah Cavendish's personal and psychological assessments screamed trouble.

Of course - and that happened on a much more personal level - she was also young and attractive and, irony of ironies, called Sarah.

"She is very assertive...and you aren't the most patient of men with this type of woman."

"I'm doing well with Eve...and you."

"We are on a very different level, Boyd. Another DSI under your command... or equal to you in command? What exactly is she?"

"Under my command," he stressed. "And she better not forget it!"

"Or you'll do what? Sack her? Send her to bed without supper?"

"That's hardly going to happen, Grace!" Boyd was indignant, even though he knew that a similar scenario was bound to occur.

"It's either a test for her or it's a test for us."

"Which do you think more likely?" he asked, a knot forming in his stomach. The gut feeling had been with him the moment the Commissioner sprung the news on him, memories of the Home Office inquiry still vivid in his mind.

"Doesn't really matter, does it?" Grace answered quietly.

Even though the music was still running, they didn't pay too much attention to it. Tension was growing, both from the uncertain situation and from something else, something personal. Boyd might not have been the most perceptive of men - in fact, he was the epitome of obtuse when it came to women - but something was going on in that active mind of hers. Something that had put her on the edge. Naturally, he'd deny it forever, but Grace on the edge was a scary concept.

"You have a problem with her?" Boyd carefully voiced the redundant question. It was obvious that she had.

Grace didn't answer. It wasn't rocket science to notice.

"If she upsets you in any way, will you tell me?" he continued earnestly.

"What will you do then?" She smirked in reply. "Spank her? Sack her? Yell at her?"

"I'll do the latter anyway..."

"...True..."

"So that won't be the point. What is it, really, Grace?"

Looking down at her, he tried to understand what bothered her so much. There were lines growing deeper on her face as she contemplated his question, or tried to avoid answering it, he couldn't be sure which it was. She even squirmed a little, and if he remembered anything from her time in hospital, it meant that she was embarrassed.

For her part, Grace really didn't want to answer. Not only because she couldn't give appropriate words to what was running through her mind, but because she was a grown woman, leaving late middle age, if people were kind; she should be above such worries. Yet...

As Grace remained silent and squirmed even more than before, Boyd began to have an inkling as to where her thoughts were going. Incredulously, he dropped her hand and squeezed her shoulder. "You can't be serious!"

Her eyes snapped open, a flush quickly rising into her cheeks. Even though it was dim in the room, she knew he could see it.

"You are not serious, Grace! She's a child!"

"That's a reason, not an obstacle!" she declared defensively.

"Oh, give me some credit for taste!" He was close to shouting, his body going rigid.

"Are you saying she is not an attractive woman?" Grace sat up and turned around quickly, the fast movement making her a little dizzy as her body adjusted.

Boyd gave her a long look, noticing how tense she looked, sitting across from him now. She was without a doubt serious. Tentatively, he reached out to cup her cheek. "I'm saying that I haven't made it my prime interest to give her the once over. She isn't exactly the woman I am looking for."

"Why?"

In the background, the long duet was building to its crescendo. Even though they'd missed it, Boyd could replay almost verbatim the lyrics of this passage. The plea, the promise (false as it had been), the assurance, and the declaration.

"Because I'm not looking. I've found her."

_Ah! Dolce notte!/ Tutto estatico d'amor/ride il ciel!_

_

* * *

_

Thank you for reading. Comments would be greatly appreciated._  
_


End file.
